


The Angel Sits on the Bed

by AlgaLenn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Episode: s08e21 Coda, Episode: s08e21 The Great Escapist, First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2013-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-05 08:49:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1091958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlgaLenn/pseuds/AlgaLenn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is angry at Castiel, but that doesn't mean he's not gonna help him when he knows the angel  is not at his best.</p><p>(I think you all can see that summaries are not my thing)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Angel Sits on the Bed

**Author's Note:**

> I should be working on something else, but I had this idea stuck in my head and I couldn't resist. I hope you like it :)  
> Anyway, I have to thank Lily (http://mishahell.tumblr.com/) because she was my amazing beta this time, so... thank you, darling! (You really should get an account here).  
> I may write a sequel to this, but I don't know for sure yet.

The angel sits on the bed of the room that Sam told him could be his, feeling completely defeated. He takes a deep breath, which makes his ribs hurt. He hasn't realized the damage produced by the bullet (which Crowley made out of an angel blade) has spread so much. He closes his eyes and tries to focus his grace on the wound that almost killed him. _Yes_ , he is badly hurt and not only there, but right now he doesn't have enough energy to care about the less significant injuries.

Even in this state, fully concentrated on healing himself as fast as he can (which is not fast enough for his liking, given his current condition), Castiel recognizes almost immediately the cadence of Dean’s steps. As an angel, he learns quickly this kind of thing. He can differentiate easily Sam’s from Dean’s from anyone else he has ever heard or watched walking, and it’s all stored in his head. Anyway, he has learned, also, that he likes Dean’s better, just as he likes better the presence of his soul, which he feels only a second later. The angel is not unaware of _why_ he likes them better, he’s not _that_ naïve, but nobody will ever make him say the reason out loud. Maybe not even Dean himself.

There’s a knock on the door and Castiel doesn't say anything. Mainly because he gets the idea that the man on the other side is going to walk in nevertheless, not because he doesn't want to be bothered. In fact, it would be wise to remark that, now, the last thing the hunter can do to the angel is bothering him with his presence, since Castiel actually is relieved to hear him behind the door, because it means that, maybe, he will talk to him (the journey back to the Men of Letters headquarters was extremely uncomfortable, with his friend not even looking at him once).

 Dean Winchester opens the door and enters the room, holding a first aid kit in his left hand and a wet towel in the right one. He places everything on the bed, precisely where Castiel is sitting, and goes back to lock the room again, without placing his eyes on the brunette.

The angel of the Lord notices the tension in his best friend’s body and he can see, on the way he moves, how angry and conflicted he is at the moment. Castiel lowers his head in shame. He is perfectly conscious of the reason for Dean to be acting like this. How could he not be aware of it when _he_ is the one who ran away with the angel tablet, didn’t give the brothers a clue of where he was and then appeared again, after days, all beaten-up and having lost the only thing he had to protect?

“Dean, I-” He means to say he’s sorry, but he’s cut off by Dean’s hand and a death-glare. “Don’t. Okay? Just don’t talk.” The hunter says as he moves towards Castiel to sit on the bed beside him. The green eyed man gazes at the angel’s stomach and notices the faint white light of his grace working on the lesion. “I assumed that was going to take you some effort.” Dean adds, locking eyes with Castiel for the first time since the crypt. The angel sees anger in those eyes, yes, but he also can perceive preoccupation, fear, sadness, relief and, _love_? Could that be love? Cas discards the thought quickly, because he knows for sure those are only his own emotions playing a trick on him. Leaving aside everything else, he is happy that Dean is finally looking at him.

Dean takes the wet towel and starts to clean the blood off of Castiel’s face. The angel closes his eyes. “Dean, this is unnecessary.” He explains, but the towel is quickly on his mouth, shushing him. “I told you to shut up, dammit.” So, the angel doesn’t say anything else, he just watches Dean intently, as the human works on his injuries with gentle touches, though he most likely knows he doesn’t need to do any of that. Castiel lets himself drown in the presence of Dean’s soul. How it shines, sometimes brighter than any other in the planet, how warm it feels near his vessel. It gives Cas some kind of comfort, security. Only when he is able to feel Dean’s soul he can be entirely sure his friend is indeed there and, after all the duplicates he had to deal with because of Naomi, that particular knowledge is an enormous relief.

The angel of the lord is so absorbed by the magnificence of the other man’s soul that he doesn’t notices when Dean talks again. “What?” He asks, attempting to dissimulate his lack of attention. Dean sighs and that softens his factures for a fraction of a second. “I said,” he pauses, “Lose the trenchcoat.” Castiel tilts his head in confusion, he’s not sure of why Dean could be asking him that, but then he remembers the scratch he gained when he landed on the road, instead of inside the Impala. So, he does as the hunter says and takes off the old dirty trenchcoat and rolls up his sleeve, revealing the injury.

The hunter pours alcohol over Castiel’s arm, making him hiss because it burns and he isn’t expecting it to burn at all. That’s the moment when Dean decides to speak again. His tone is harsh and angry, and Castiel can sense how his hand tenses through the towel. “How could you do this to us-- to me-- again?” Dean looks away from the angel’s eyes and fixes his gaze on the wound. “I thought you were dead, man. Don’t you think I’ve suffered enough the _other_ times you died?” Castiel wants to say something, but he knows Dean is only going to silence him for a third time. “You could have asked for our help. Don’t you trust me?” And that’s it, that’s all the angel can stand without saying a thing. He's not going to let his friend think he doesn't trust him, because he does, with his life. “I do Dean, is just tha-” All of the sudden, the hunter's lips are on the angel's and Castiel is paralyzed in surprise.

They stay like that for a few seconds (though Cas could swear those seconds were hours), their lips just touching, until Castiel remembers what he should be doing and closes his eyes to kiss Dean back. That's when his friend starts moving his lips gently and Castiel is relieved that he doesn't sleep, because if he did, he would be sure that the whole situation is a mere dream. The angel melts into the kiss. For a moment he forgets every problem they have and there's nothing else in the world but them.

Dean breaks the kiss for a briefly second. "I told you to shut up." He says. His tone is still harsh and Cas can sense that he's still mad at him, but he chuckles a little anyway. He loves the way Dean decided to make him stop talking.

In spite of the strong grip the hunter has on Castiel’s arms and how his voice sounds, when their lips meet again the blue-eyed man can’t perceive a trace of anger in them. Dean kisses him tenderly and, instantly, Castiel’s arms are wrapped around his neck, trying to pull him even closer. The angel can’t help but smile into the kiss because he had always thought the human didn’t feel the same about him, but here he has the irrefutable proof that he was wrong.

The kiss deepens. Dean nips slightly at the angel’s lower lip and starts pushing him down on the bed. The hunter is on top of Castiel now, strangling his hips, which earns him a muffled moan that escapes from Castiel’s throat. And after that… **nothing**.

The hunter pulls away from Castiel and sits properly on the bed once more. The angel has a faint smile on his lips, but it rapidly disappears when he catches the look in Dean’s face. He doesn’t say a word as his best friend moves towards the door, without meeting his eyes. He simply stares at the human he loves and wonders _why._ Why is he leaving now? Why can’t he stay a little longer? Why is he so mad at him? But he of course doesn’t need the answers to those questions, because he knows. He just wishes somebody could tell him he is wrong. Then again, that’s only wishful thinking.

Right before Dean is about to leave, he turns to look at Castiel and the angel could swear he sees it for a second time, that unique glow in the hunter’s eyes. “Don’t you dare disappear on me like that again, Castiel.” After saying this, he’s gone.

The angel sits on the bed of the room that Sam told him could be his, not feeling so defeated this time. He’s not worried about the wound in his stomach anymore, though, he keeps focusing his grace there. His mind wanders back to the feeling of those chapped lips on his and he finds himself smiling one more time. It doesn’t matter that his human is angry, it only matters he is going to do everything in his hands to make him happy once again (maybe he will even forgive him, if he is lucky, but he's not expecting any miracles). Because he saw love in those green eyes and that’s enough to give him hope.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, comments and kudos are loved :D


End file.
